


Just another way

by CravenWyvern



Series: DS Extras [109]
Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Short One Shot, Smallbird (Don't Starve), Vargling (Don't Starve), headcanons galore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28963509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern
Summary: A coastal fog creeping in, a smallbird in hand and a vargling at the side.
Series: DS Extras [109]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443
Kudos: 14





	Just another way

"Hm, would you look at that."

The smallbird squeaked in answer, small feathery body shivering in the late fall chill, and Maxwell could feel its beak as it pecked at his leg, plucking at the worn fabric of his trouser leg.

On his other side, panting quietly, the vargling pressed its broad back against him and wagged its tail at his voice. It was nearly to his knee now, so much larger from when he had first found it, a small sodden wet pile of smelly furs on the side of a meandering cobblestone path, trying to hide from the rains under a twiggy pine. 

He supposed he should be grateful that it was growing fairly normally, wasn't some malnourished runt that did nothing but sit and drool everywhere.

...not that he was taking a shot at Chester, the blasted living chest that had very obviously been in someone else's possession last he checked, but at least the vargling helped out with more serious issues. Chester near never got the willpower or motivation up to help in a fight, and never with him anyway.

Still, the hound pup's panting quieted as its ears rose, going a hint tense at his side as it stared off into the creeping closer fog, and that was enough, along with another few pitched chirps and pips from the shortbird, to get Maxwell to heave a sigh and reach down to retrieve the feathery monster. It immediately started to squirm, weak wings pushing against his grip and little clawed legs kicking, but it was still small enough to just bundle up in his arms and hold close to his chest, the right amount to calm it down.

Its pips distracted the vargling, and it's wet nose poked at his knee, empty blank eyes staring up at him as he gave it a frowned look, but no matter his expression its tail still started to wag, wapping back and forth in a wiggle that made the animal look quite comical.

"...Not for you." 

That made it look away almost guiltily, tongue lolling out for a moment as it drooled all over the place, before falling back into a quiet pant. The smallbird didn't offer up any thanks, as usual, but when Maxwell turned a glare to it that big glassy eye only blinked at him, empty gaze in that soft smooth lavender hue, and it's much too overly large eyelashes.

Then it pipped again, a small churring series of chirps as its feathers puffed up, hackles and all, before smoothing back down as it closed its eye and relaxed.

He could still feel it shivering; a mild thought entered his head, a bit comedic - perhaps a sweater would do the bird some good.

The imagery wasn't unpleasant, but the former Nightmare King grit his jaw and shrugged it off. That sort of thinking was not for him to indulge in, especially with how _well_ surviving on his own has been working out.

...the most he was willing to do, or at least plan for, was perhaps wrap the bird up in a shoddy blanket back at his sorry excuse for a camp and set it down by the fire. 

Of course, the bloody irritating thing would probably shake that attempt off and then come toddling after his every step, no matter how cold it ended up. Damn bird.

Maxwell adjusted the feathery monster in his arms, a slight shift as to open up one side of his suit jacket and let the creature burrow its cold beak, and overlarge, slightly closed eye, against his chest, now with a bit more cover. He wasn't the warmest, he knew that fairly well by now, but the creature chirped its approval anyhow, small pips of baby bird sound that soothed just enough of what was left of his heart to relax down the irritation.

The hound, in turn, huffed a doggy sigh and leaned against him more fully, warmth and cold bristling fur against his leg.

Its eyes, however, still stared into the creeping fog.

Maxwell hissed out his own sigh, not quite wanting to turn his attention away from the smallbird in his arms, but unfortunately the Constant wasn't kindly enough in its autumn weather to allow him more free time, and with one creature shivering up a storm against his chest, the thinner fabric of his clothing underneath his suit jacket not quite hiding the prickling chill of stiff feathers, and another standing alert and uneasy at his side, the former Nightmare King supposed they should get going.

The fog must have come in from the coast, a rolling thick pale wave; it wasn't exactly a common sight, but one he knew well enough to stay away from. Already trees and bushes were starting to disappear within it, its lapping streams of mist and cloud threads oozing closer, and soon this little cliff of open, safer forest would be consumed. It wouldn't do him any good staying out and meeting it.

No matter his need to gather grass and twigs. A brief venture into more occupied territories should be good enough, as long as he wasn't caught. It would ruin an already shaky day, if he gained the ire of someone more than willing to give chase.

If he was lucky, perhaps he'd meet one of the more...friendly of the group. With his reputation, however, Maxwell glumly recognized that he may well end up running from an overzealous viking if he wasn't careful.

The lot of them still haven't quite forgiven him for the incident last summer, and he supposed that was fair. A very grumpy, very temperamental Dragonfly passing the border of the islands, still coated in sizzling ocean salt spray, had not at all been what he had intended to stumble upon that day, but it was his fault that the first thought in his head was to race to camp to _get the others to take care of the issue._

In the end, at least the mainlands own resident Dragonfly took offense to another invading her territory; that fight had been distracting enough for the others to finish off the invader and acquire the somewhat tolerance of the nesting summer giant.

Then again, most of camp had been burned down, and the gardens were a wreck. Not exactly anything Maxwell could do to excuse himself, besides some vague, snappy and somewhat antagonistic word choice stating he'd rather _they_ deal with the issue and not _him._

...that hadn't ended in his favor, but he supposed exile for a few years was better than being put to death. He had to wonder what the fine line of that was, and how their little group vote and discussion found common ground on the matter.

The hound pressed up against him with a little more urgency, its tail wagging having stopped entirely now, and the old man squinted at the approaching fog for a few moments more, eyeing the thick tendrils that squirmed in clouded, misty ways that were not exactly natural or comforting.

A bit of a conundrum, snaggletoothed jaw scraping together in a vague snarl as he wavered, but then the smallbird pipped at him, large eye flashing open before snuggling against him with more finality, small claws grasping to his sleeves and clinging a tight hold, and that, along with the hound pup giving him a slight, worried nudge, was enough to get the former Nightmare King moving. 

For a half moment, his feet almost took him in the wrong direction.

But then the vargling whined, a low, scraping noise of worry, just enough to tug on what was left of his heart strings, another round of chirps from the ugly smallbird cuddled in his arms, and Maxwell hissed out a strained breath and turned on his heel, started the walk back to his own dingy camp as the fog slowly followed.

He supposed he should warn the others, then. Even he, as former King, didn't quite know what may lurk within the fog, and not many at camp may know, or remember, an encounter with such a rare event.

A part of him, twisted and encompassing and seeping, _oozing_ vile bitterness, wished quite strongly to let them deal with it on their own - no need to get himself involved, let the lot of them _handle_ it.

The vargling trotted by his side, still not quite fully panting, brushing against him every once in a while as it followed in step to his much slower, much less steady walk. 

The smallbird shivered, pipped down low and deep within its small body, and clung to him as it fell asleep.

Maxwell sighed, this time with less simmering undertones, and vaguely turned his step towards a path that he knew would lead him to the main camp.

Just a brief visit, he decided. Just enough to exchange a few words of warning, then he could leave them with at least some preparation.

A drop to a debt he's never been good at paying, but the two animals keeping him company seemed to imply it would be better to at least try.

If he wouldn't leave the two of them to the fog, Maxwell supposed he shouldn't leave the others either.

The coastal fog behind him, reaching with its feelers of mist, not at all like the fog once known in another world, continued forward with its slow, steady march.


End file.
